Unforgettable
by galaxies in her eyes
Summary: Severus can remember the pain, the truth, the sorrow, the anger...but when will he remember the love, the happiness, and the peace? Rated T for slight mentions of rape and abuse.


I remember when I first saw you. We were both little, you a bit younger than me. You had the prettiest hair I'd ever seen, red, like a flame, and the brightest green eyes. You were always energetic, always so bubbly, as opposed to my shy nature and black hair and eyes.

I learned your name: Lily Evans. We became fast friends, best friends. We chatted about random things, each enjoying the other's company and learning about one another.

We stayed best friends for years, and I told you about the magical world. You got your letter, same as me, but Petunia didn't, for which I was thankful.

I hated your sister, Petunia. You always defended her, saying that because you were younger, you were doted on more, which made Petunia jealous and caused her to lash out, saying the most spiteful things.

I disagreed. I thought it was because you were a witch and she wasn't. You shook your head, swishing that beautiful hair of yours from side to side.

"Oh, Sev," you said fondly. "That _can't_ be it. Why, Tuney said just the other day that she would 'never want to go to that school.'"

"Of freaks," I supplied, finishing the unspoken words you left off. "Why can't she understand that only a few Muggle-borns get any magic at all?"

You sighed and kept quiet.

* * *

I hated Potter from the moment I met him. He flirted shamelessly with you, which you thankfully brushed off and laughed in his face for his efforts, but I could tell you were only pretending to be annoyed.

What did he have that I didn't, other than money, status, and good looks?

You were sorted into Gryffindor, and I into Slytherin, which I had predicted, but hoped would not be the case. You smiled sadly at me as you walked over and joined the four boys who I already could tell would be my greatest problem. I watched you go with a small, wistful smile.

* * *

We remained friends, but never quite the same. You joined up with the only people that I really couldn't stand, and spent an increasing amount of time with them. They were forever in trouble, and though you scolded them something fierce, I knew you were secretly amused by their antics.

Besides, what would someone like you be doing with someone like me?

* * *

I did quite well in Potions, tied with you. We were by far the best brewers - everyone else either made their cauldron blow up, or themselves blow up. Pathetic.

I knew a lot about the Dark Arts, so that kept me far ahead of everyone else in DADA. I had learned from the books my mother kept, hexes and curses that could spill someone's entrails. My father, being a Muggle, couldn't use any of them, but he did well enough with his fists, feet, and the buckle of his belt.

I never confided in you about him.

I was ashamed.

* * *

One year I overheard Black tell his friends about something in the Shrieking Shack that appeared once a full moon, and how he was going to be the first one there next time. I wanted to beat him, for once in my lifetime.

So the next full moon, I made my way down to the Shack. I crept inside, and heard something scuffling.

Next thing I knew, I was running for my life, as fast as I could away from the Shack, with a _werewolf_ on my heels.

I got away safely, barely, as the monster's claws missed me by only a few inches. And guess who the werewolf was?

Lupin.

I guess I should have known. He always left to "visit a sick aunt" or "attend a relation's funeral" during the full moon, and was always "ill" when he got back. It should have been easy to spot: he was sickly the days leading up to a full moon, and a few days after, as well.

If he'd really been doing what he said he was, he wouldn't have any family left!

* * *

Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew taunted and hexed me as much as they could over the years. I'm pretty sure the only reason they didn't just dispose of me was because Potter was infatuated with you, and you were friends with me.

Potter and Black were the main leaders; Lupin just followed them around and shook his head when they got caught, even though he was always caught with them. Pettigrew, I could at least stand.

In fifth year, the Marauders hung me upside down in front of everyone. You included. I was so embarrassed; I mean, who wouldn't be, hung upside down with your underpants showing, and Black threatening to take even _those_ off?

You rescued me, and Potter tried to make himself look cool by hexing me. I was so ashamed at having you see my underpants - my _dirty_ underpants, no less! - that I snapped.

I called you the _one_ word I'd vowed to myself never to call you.

 _Mudblood._

If looks could have killed, I would have been dead several times over. I attempted to apologize numerous times, once even setting up camp in front of the Gryffindor common room painting because you wouldn't talk to me. Hell, you would barely even _look_ at me!

Nothing.

You ignored me, for the most part, speaking to me only when deemed absolutely necessary. Finally, I gave up.

Peter tried to convince me that you weren't worth it, that a filthy Mudblood like you didn't deserve my apologies. But I _wanted_ to apologize to you. I wanted you to forgive me. I wanted your friendship back desperately.

I wanted you to be mine.

* * *

After that unfortunate incident, I thought long and hard about becoming a Death Eater. Most of the Slytherins in our year were planning to become one after leaving Hogwarts. Some brave - or reckless - seventh years had already taken the Mark.

I didn't want to do it because I thought Muggle-borns should be wiped out, or because I thought Purebloods were above everyone else. I was half-blood, myself!

No, I wanted to join because I wanted to protect you. I thought that if I was a loyal servant, the Dark Lord would leave you alone.

How wrong I was.

* * *

Once I left school, i joined the Dark Lord's ranks, along with Peter.

We earned our Dark Marks a few weeks later, after an attack in which we were ordered to kill at least five people.

Five innocents.

Five _Muggles._

Your parents were in the attack, but escaped relatively unscathed. I even killed one of my brethren who was aiming his wand at your mother's unprotected back.

No one suspected me.

If I told you I had saved your mother from dying or going insane from Cruciatus, you probably would have hexed me and told me to shove off. Or maybe something ruder.

Peter and I participated in many revels, which were full of sensual dancing, the writhing bodies of people I really did not need to see in that state of undress, and the sounds of skin slapping on skin.

Of course, we were _ordered_ to attend. I had to rape women, innocent women who were barely of legal age. Muggle-born women who I might have seen at Hogwarts. Women who begged me to stop, tears running down their pretty faces, which were smeared with a mixture of blood, snot, and tears. The Dark Lord ordered me to continue, then slit their throats and dispose of them someplace they would be found, naked, as testimony of what he could do.

If anyone refused, they were tortured at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange, or worse. One time, when a man refused to take advantage of an unconscious, helpless teenage girl, he was subjected to the Dark Lord's Occlumency, which drove the poor man insane. He heard voices in his head, and spoke back to invisible people that no one else could see.

I was disgusted.

How could anyone do this, even someone as cruel and sadistic as Tom Riddle?

* * *

That fateful night, All Hallow's Eve, 1981, when you were brutally murdered. You were only twenty-one, at the prime of your life. I rushed into the house as soon as Voldemort left. He was no longer "my Lord."

He had killed you, brutally, and I would do whatever it took to repay his kindness.

 _Mercy,_ I had told him. I loved you still, after all those years when you hated me and dated Potter. I loved you still when you _married_ Potter. When you gave birth to _his_ son.

Your son, Harry _James Potter,_ sat in his crib, a fresh lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. You were lying face-down on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Your beautiful red hair was strewn around your head like a burning halo. I picked you up and held your cold, limp body to my warm chest.

You were dead, and I wasn't.

And all I could do was cry.

* * *

All I wanted was for you to be alive. I would have given anything to see your bright green eyes flashing and your red hair crackling as you hexed the hell out of me.

I wanted James to call me Snivellus, wanted him to laugh as he hung me upside down.

But you were both gone.

Dead.

I never told you about the abuse. I never told you how I used to cry when I saw my father backhand my mother. I never told you what the Marauders did to me after our friendship ended, because you weren't with me. I never told you how lonely I was, how desperate for companionship. How I wished for someone to love me.

I never told you that I self-harmed. You never knew that I considered suicide.

Would you even have cared?

There are so many things I never told you...and now I will never be able to.

Because you're dead.

And nothing will bring you back.

* * *

I swore to protect your son, no matter how much he looked and acted like James Potter. I would give my life for your son.

He had his mother's eyes.

Over the years, I saved his life many times, regardless of the consequences I might receive from Voldemort. I joined the Order as a double-agent, spying on Voldemort and reporting back to Dumbledore. I trusted no one in my lonely, miserable life.

I found out that Pettigrew killed you. Voldemort may have uttered the Killing curse, but it was Pettigrew who betrayed your secrets.

I will get my revenge. I will not stop until he's dead.

* * *

Voldemort knew I was becoming unfaithful. So he had Nagini bite me. Downed by a bloody snake. How ironic. I thought snakes protected their own.

As I slid down the wall of the Shrieking Shack, where so many terrible things had happened to me, your son and the Muggle-born who I'd always had a slight fondness for because she reminded me of you came running in.

I gave him my memories, and told him to look at me. As he met my eyes, I could see his unruly black hair, so like his father's, turn the color of yours. I could imagine his eyes on a young woman my age, walking out from behind him.

"Am I...?"

You smiled sadly. "I'm so sorry, Sev. I never meant for this to be the end for you."

I protested weakly as I felt my presence in the land of the living decrease. "Lils, it wasn't your fault. _I'm_ the one who should be apologizing. I ruined our friendship. For that, among many other things, I'm sorry."

You placed a cool hand on my fevered cheek. "Sev, I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago, if I'm to be honest, but I was too proud to admit it. I missed our friendship, our comfortable companionship."

James Potter materialized in front of me. "I am sorry, too, Sniv-" he broke off. "Severus. I was a bully, and I can see that now. Our pranks got out of hand, and soon it was just habit to be as rude to you as possible." He gave a rueful grin...and ran a hand through his already messy hair.

My soul left my mangled body and hovered above it for a while, before floating up and joining everyone else who had died during the war: Lily, James, Peter, Sirius, Remus, Marlene, Alice, Frank, Mad-Eye.

I was at peace, for the first time in my life.

And I was happy.

* * *

 **Edit: Feb. 7th, '18. Fixed improper pronouns and OOCness.**


End file.
